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STARDATE
0023666072866:2001,
give or take a few minutes Personal
log While preparing to rendezvous with the Felpian Slime Devil Armada at Doofus Prime, we were accosted by a vessel from the local hairless biped community -- I believe they are called the United Federation of something or other. Much to our amazement, they sent out two crewmembers in smaller vessels to slop a disgusting colored goo on our sides -- they called it "tagging," as we discovered later. When I hailed them and requested a cease and desist of this action, they reacted in surprise to the news that we were sentient. Apparently their xenobiological researchers had assumed that we possessed the same intelligence as a parallel species on their home planet. Considering that said species is 1) smaller than us by a factor of five and 2) mainly noted for its ability to consume cylindrical alloy food containers, the assumption that this race holds intellectual parity with the Star Goat Force is mind-boggling. Bipeds -- I'm amazed they manage to stay upright with such astounding cerebrums. More aggravating was the fact that they had a small wager going on how many "Mutant Star Goats" a certain crewmember could tag (as if we were mutations -- we're supposed to be this big, thank you very much). Of course, there were bound to be a few casualties during the confusion -- Ensign Bih'lee reports that the biped crewmember was quite flavorsome, if a little fatty. However (in spite of some resistance from the bipeds' Executive Officer, a member of some excessively logical, green-skinned vegetarian race whose chief joy in life is making their superiors look stupid), I was able to open a remarkably satisfactory interspecies dialog between myself and Captain Trixi, as nelly a slut as ever worked the spaceways. To put it bluntly, after a negotiating session wherein we agreed to accept tasty excess paperwork in exchange for our nuclear droppings, she proceeded to gandil my froogers like no tomorrow, morking them like a real bindlecoop. I mean, this bimbo woofled her jampo like I've never known a jampo to be woofled before. On top of that, we got to eat a few maintenance bots, as well. Quite a satisfactory First Contact experience, if I do say so myself. Although how I'm going to get this "chocolate pudding and synthewhip" goo out of my hide is a mystery. . . |
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